The Calling
by Seroci
Summary: Levi Reyers is the perfect boyfriend. Oliver Wood is his only competition. Jealousy makes love a dangerous game.
1. A Letter

A/N: I said I'd rewrite this fecking story, and I will. This is going to work. So if you're reading this for the first time, this will be no change. If you've been with me from the beginning…*heavy sigh* I think I'm doing things right this time. Let us pray. But beware that many things _have_ been changed. 

I own nothing, I take credit for nothing, 'cept the occasional little original character. I will list the songs I listen to if you really want me to, because my music is the source of my inspiration. And it's so much fun to relate songs to what's ticking upstairs. ^.^  I point you to Rowling.

~~~

Angelina pulled her quilt over her head; if there was a downside to the Aberdeen Quidditch Retreat, and it'd been difficult to find one, it had to be Rane's snoring. One would have thought that living with Katie Bell for a school year would have doused any annoyance towards snoring, but Rane proved otherwise. On the rare occasion, Rane would mutter between snores, sometimes intelligible words. Although however interesting Rane's sleep talk might usually be, it wasn't as interesting at three in the morning.

Within a few minutes, Angelina began to regret curling up to tightly in her bedspread. Freezing charms or no, it was hot. Snoring hindered Angelina's sleep; heat completely prevented it. She poked her toes out of the bottom of the quilt, idly wondering why the retreat insisted on having quilts all year 'round. Surely not many people came in the winter months. And a quilt in the summer was plain idiocy. At the beginning of the retreat, team captains claimed the cabins were kept cool enough that quilts were desirable, and if the freezing charms didn't work, the natural cold air from the sea would. Yet, despite being named the Aberdeen Quidditch Retreat, the camp was nearly fifty miles from the city, and thus Muggle threats. It was also fifty miles from any cool sea air. Quilts were beyond insane. Sighing heavily, Angelina poked her head out from the comforter. It hadn't done much to block out Rane's snoring, anyway.

Kicking the cover aside completely, she sat up and dangled her feet over the bedside. Right across from her was Rane's bed. Rane had spread herself over her quilt, a silk nightgown her only covering. Her curly red hair was tied back, but greatly needed to be brushed. She looked so peaceful; it was hard to believe that such a serene appearance could cause so much bloody noise.

Angelina slipped into a light shirt. She considered putting on slippers, but concluded they'd make too much noise outside. And besides, her feet were hot. She grabbed a brush from her bag on the floor and very quickly, not very neatly, brushed her black hair. It was pulled into a ponytail, much like Rane's, but it was much better at staying in place, even during sleep. Or during mock sleep. Angelina grimaced slightly at the stringy feel of her hair; she needed to shower. Today would be the boys' turn for the showers, but she and Rane had connections among that gender, and one of those connections was a team captain. A little pleading, a little bribery, or a little threatening would get her in to shower.

She stood, tucking her key into the pocket of her silk pajama pants. At this point, even silk was too much cover. She wished she'd done as Katie advised and brought boxers for pajamas. With key in pocket, and wand in hand, she tiptoed past Rane, then past five other occupied beds, and not all of them girls. Even in the dark she could make out the lithe form of Jory Shely and broad-shouldered Avery Merimonti. Leroy Winters, who Rane and Jory often called Lee, stirred when Angelina opened the door, and she was sure he opened his eyes, but he rolled over, pulling his quilt to cover himself. The movement exposed his right ankle, which was wrapped tightly in a bandage; he'd been idiot enough to fall victim to one of Jory's pranks and ended up twisting his ankle, or something. Angelina suspected he'd done more than just twist now, since it'd been more than a week since the trick and he still didn't walk on it much. However, he refused to listen to Angelina and Rane when they told him he should get it healed by the nurse, to prove to Jory that he was 'manly.' Angelina chuckled under her breath as she shut the door. She could easily see Jory and Leroy married one day, having very athletically gifted kids, and thickheaded sons.

The outside air was actually cooler than inside the cabin, but it was hardly comfortable. The only breeze was warm and it made Angelina more uncomfortable, if anything. She took a few steps before withdrawing her wand to light her way. Too much light would give her away, but she didn't need much; only enough to keep from stubbing her toes again. Carefully, she moved off the dirt path and onto the grass. Avery had caught her sneaking out, one night, and though exasperated at the rules she was breaking, he suggested that she at least walk on the grass so she wouldn't leave footprints. He was strict with rules, and even stricter with Quidditch. Angelina's rule-breaking could very well disqualify their team, and that was something Avery wouldn't put up with. He was their captain. A captain who needed to loosen up a wee bit, if Angelina could say anything about it. She, Rane, and Jory had managed to get him drunk one night, early in the summer, and he'd been fun enough then. At their dare, he'd stripped down to bare skin and flown around their rival's cabin, shouting gibberish. They had had to knock him out with one of Jory's bats and drag him to bed. No one volunteered to dress him, and so he woke up mid-afternoon the next day, naked, sick, and with a big blue and black lump on the side of his head. He hadn't been fun at all the following month.

Angelina doused her light at the sound of voices. She froze on her tiptoes, not daring to even finish her stride. There were always rule-breakers at the retreat. Her boyfriend, Levi Reyers, was one of them, and it was exactly he whom she was sneaking out to meet. But each rule-breaker had assigned themselves nights, as it were, to sneak out, and she and Levi arranged their own expeditions so they weren't at risk of being caught either by counselors or captains, or fellow night owls. Someone was off the clock tonight.

She glanced at her watch. Levi was meeting her near the showers in five minutes. She didn't have time to freeze at muffled voices. Except, now that she had started moving slowly, hiding her wand, she realized the voices weren't talking. They were short, breathless murmurs, and however indistinct the groans were, she was sure she recognized one of them. Since her third year at Hogwarts she'd had to wake up to that voice at ungodly hours, had to deal with that voice yelling at her nearly every evening when she should have been doing homework. It was a voice she'd grown accustomed to hearing, but not in the way she was hearing it now.

Wand tucked behind her back, ready for use if she was seen, she darted behind a tree, holding her breath. She intended to slip past unseen and leave the two people, for it was clear that it was two, to their rendezvous alone. However, as she peeked out to make sure they weren't facing her, she couldn't help but look for the face she connected with the voice. His back was to her, but recognize him she did. His short brown hair was a dull cut, if longer than it normally was, and not entirely distinguishable on its own; it was his shirt that gave him away. The girl with him and just begun to remove it when Angelina saw, and she covered her mouth to keep from laughing. It was common knowledge to never wear shirts that gave yourself away when you broke a rule, especially at night when you could possibly slip away as nothing more than a shadow. But, for whatever reason, Oliver Wood had ignored this. The shirt being torn from him was his team's T-shirt, with WOOD and KEEPER lettered neatly on the back. 

Angelina scampered away quickly, more afraid that she'd laugh and they'd discover her than that she'd see something she wasn't supposed to. She wasn't ten steps away when she realized she should have gotten a look at the girl's face, so as to make for better blackmail, though she was sure the girl was only a summer fling. Oliver had his mind so focused on Quidditch that he barely even realized three of his team members were female, and thus changed in front of them many a time before they told him they'd appreciate it if he changed at least behind a towel or something. Since he could hardly even recognize the female half of the species, there was no way he'd be able to commit himself to a relationship, especially during the Quidditch season. 

It was a few minutes before Angelina realized she'd not only stopped heading towards the showers but that she'd even retraced her steps to see who the girl was. She was shocked to see it was Nicole Folz, a Chaser on Oliver's team. Nicole wasn't exactly what Angelina would call pretty, and she had an annoying, high pitched voice that sounded more like a bug than a human. She wasn't very talented when it came to Quidditch, either. Angelina suspected she played only for the guys, because guys apparently liked athletic women, but Nicole didn't look like much besides snot. Why Oliver ended up half-naked with her at night was beyond reason.

Another glance at her watch told her she was two minutes late. Stifling a yelp of surprise, Angelina loped from the cabin to the showers, not taking the time to dart behind trees or cabins to keep out of sight or to light her wand. She was regretful of the latter; not ten steps from the shower wall, her foot hit a rock, and she had to reach out an arm to keep from falling completely.

 "You didn't wear slippers then, did you?"

Angelina smoothed stray locks of hair back from her face and turned around, smiling. It was dark, but even so she could easily recognize Levi. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, softly, perfectly. Kissing Levi was magic again and again, something she knew she'd never tire of. "My feet were hot," she whispered when their lips parted.

He chuckled, pulled her to him, and hugged her firmly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Ready for tomorrow?"

 "Always ready," she muttered, ear against his chest. Just behind his steady heartbeat, she caught a growl from his stomach. "Don't they feed you here?"

 "You kidding?" he groaned. "They're starving us, kiddo."

She laughed into his chest, recalling a very full plate as his last meal, and after he'd cleared his own plate three or four times, he asked her if he could finish her untouched doughnut. "You ready for tomorrow?"

His hand ruffled her hair. "You are so going down, Johnson." He made to kiss the top of her head, but ended up kissing her eye when she tilted her head to look up at him. "Merimonti's got a helluva good team, but you're gonna need a _godly_ team to bring this one down."

 "Not if you're thinking about food."

 "Who's thinking about food?" he asked, trying to and horribly failing at pretending to be taken aback. His grin slipped slightly when his stomach growled again.

Meeting his grey eyes, and nearly losing her tongue when she did, Angelina giggled, "It's a ruddy loud thing, ain't it?" She cocked her head to the side, eyes locked on his high cheekbones and rusty brown hair that needed washing as much as her own. It was hard not to look at his eyes; she'd melt in his arms if she did, she was sure of it. Smiling, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. It needed to be combed, too. "Isn't it a bit long?"

He brought one hand to his ear, about where his hair stopped. "You think it's too long?"

 "It's shaggy."

He smiled at her and winked. "Lucky for me you like shaggy guys, eh?"

She opened her mouth in protest. "When did I say that?" she demanded. "When?"

Without an answer, he bent and locked his lips with hers. Her heart skipped at not only the unexpected kiss but at how rough he managed to be without ever hurting her. She lost herself in him within moments, and if he hadn't needed to pull back for breath now and again, she surely would have forgotten to breathe.

~~~

  


The food was never particularly good at the retreat, but this year it managed to be better. Angelina realized she was voluntarily putting eggs in her mouth instead of forcing herself to out of plain hunger. It was the start of a bad day if breakfast was this good. She grimaced, trying to pretend the eggs were overcooked and the orange juice gone bad and the pancakes stale and burned.

Next to her, Levi was shoveling a helping of eggs twice the size of her own into his mouth, pouring ketchup with one hand and eating with the other. Her eyes widened; he'd always been a fast eater, at least for as long as she'd known him, but it was amazing he never got upset stomachs not only because of the amount of food he ate but because of the rapidity with which he ate it. In minutes he was spooning more eggs onto plate. Angelina poked his side lightly, wondering where all the food went; the kid was practically flesh and bone!

He flinched lightly at her touch. Swallowing his mouthful, he glanced over at her. "What was that for?"

 "You're such a widget," she mused, purposely taking a small bite, smaller than she usually took, and eating it with as much grace and delicacy as she could without laughing. After she swallowed, she dabbed her mouth with the corner of Levi's sleeve, made a quiet burp, and excused herself. "A skinny widget."

 "A hungry widget," he muttered, returning to his plate. He took a forkful of eggs, examined them, then poured on more ketchup than Angelina thought was necessary.

She shook her head in amusement before starting on her pancakes. Without turning her head, she glanced at him, and caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, a grin of eggs, and putting her fork down, she asked, "Have you tried the pancakes?"

 "The eggs bewitched me."

She laughed. "Magical eggs, eh?"

He swallowed another mouthful, took a moment to drink nearly half his glass of juice in one breath, then attacked the eggs again. Attack was exactly the word, Angelina decided. She leaned on her elbows, beginning to think that he hadn't heard her. A deep, bellowing voice interrupted her chance to ask him about his eggs again.

 "Bells, Katie!"

Angelina turned in her seat expectantly. Devin Pelquist, one of senior captains, was standing on one of the mess hall tables, an owl perched on his shoulder and a box at his feet. The owl, Hellweasel, had been at AQR for more years than Angelina cared to count. She'd heard that he once was the post owl, but for as long as she'd know him, he'd been retired. None of the staff had taken him home, though; he had become a part of AQR. 

Katie Bell stood up and raised her hand. "Hellweasel!" The owl looked in her direction, then took the small bundle of envelopes from Devin's outstretched hand in his talons and spread his wings. He barely had to flap once to reach Katie. She caught him easily on the arm and stroked his head before retrieving her mail. Hellweasel returned to Devin's shoulder at a whistle.

 "Get my mail for me, will you, kiddo?" Levi asked from his third helping of eggs. He had the ketchup bottled upended again.

 "Aye," Angelina answered, watching as Devin read names off, oftentimes butchering them purposely and receiving banters about mispronunciations, banters that he expertly returned. He'd been a captain the previous year, but after graduating from his school, he went into training to become a senior captain. From there he could move up to instructor or referee; now, he performed the jobs most of the staff resented, such as mail delivery. He managed to make a joke about it.

 "Folz, Nicole!" 

Angelina swiveled her head to catch a glimpse of the girl. Nicole's black hair was tied back in an uneven braid, clearly uncombed, and she looked tired, but nothing else gave away that she'd had a rather draining night. She kept glancing at Oliver, however, who sat only three seats away from Levi, even when she yelled in that high pitched voice of hers, "Hellweasel!"

Devin shook his head, black curls dancing about his head, then looked at Hellweasel. "Look at that, Weasy. She has the nerve to call your name but not look you in the face."

Nicole turned a bright shade of red and cleared her throat. Eyes locked squarely on Hellweasel, she called his name again. The owl complied this time, taking her one envelope from Devin's hand and flying it over to her. He didn't land on her extended arm, but instead dropped the letter on her plate, then returned to Devin's shoulder. She frowned, eyes dancing back to Oliver.

Oliver wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his plate, fork swirling eggs in circles around his pancakes. His juice was untouched. Shaking her head sympathetically, Angelina kissed Levi on the forehead, patted his shoulder, and stood. "I'll still get your mail, Leeve," she promised him. He nodded, not even looking up from his ketchup-drenched-eggs. The sight of those eggs was enough to make Angelina queasy.

The seat next to Oliver was taken, so Angelina took the roundabout way and sat down directly across from the captain. She leaned on her elbows and watched him for a while, then watched his food. He gave no sign that he knew she was there.

 "You're not going to eat?" she asked, taking his fork from him. She flinched when her fingers brushed his hand; she knew more about that hand, now, than she ever wanted to. Swallowing, trying to forget the images that quickly passed through her mind, she cut a slice of his pancakes for him. "The eggs taste real. And the pancakes aren't burned."

He chuckled softly, a chuckle she saw more than heard. Inhaling, he muttered, "I don't eat well before games."

Angelina closed her eyes and struggled to make her thoughts stop before they went too far. He was still the same Oliver, Nicole or no Nicole. He was watching her intently when her eyes opened; she tried not to flinch again.

 "I know you saw us," he said softly, reaching to take his fork back.

She choked, and she wasn't sure on what. Shaking her head, she started to say "What do you mean?" but his hand grabbed hers and she fell into silence. Carefully, he pried his fork from her grasp, and it wasn't until he was back to stirring his eggs around his plate that she realized she'd been clutching the utensil. Her knuckles were still white.

 "Nothing happened," he muttered, picking up a small forkful of eggs.

Angelina held in a scoff; she knew nothing when she saw nothing, and Nicole was doing _something_. 

 "It was a one-nighter," he continued softly, staring at his eggs. "And she was more on the giving end than the…" He swallowed. "…the receiving." A heavy breath escaped him and he slowly brought his fork to his mouth. His bite was hesitant, like he wasn't sure what Angelina had said about the eggs being real was true. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then said, "Nothing happened." By this time, his face was a dark shade of red.

Angelina stopped watching him, and instead started watching Devin. Her name was going to be called soon; Phil Lingud, the Seeker for Levi and Oliver's team, was getting his mail. It was while she was watching Hellweasel fly in circles around Phil's head that she realized what Oliver meant by 'nothing happened.' She breathed a small breath of relief, then started when she realized she was relieved Oliver and Nicole hadn't gone too far. Maybe she should have stayed with Levi and not bothered with trying to get Oliver to eat. 

She hadn't been let down; Oliver was eating now, if slowly, and as if the food was poisoned. She could be sure he wouldn't faint on the pitch and that she would be playing against a Keeper worthy of her determination. There little else that she hated more than incapable Keepers, and Oliver was _very_ capable. On a full stomach. She had no reason to stay by him, save, maybe, her curiosity. "How did you know it was me?" she asked after a moment's silence.

He sighed heavily, putting his fork on his plate. Leaning forward on his elbows, in a fashion similar to hers, he said, "Katie told me, with a very detailed account that came, she claimed, from _your_ mouth."

It was Angelina's turn to turn red. She remembered telling Katie on the way to breakfast that she had "goodies" to use against Oliver over the course of the next year, and Katie, being Katie, wanted to know then and there what Angelina's goodies were. Angelina only said that Oliver and Nicole had spent a rather interesting night together. There were no details. "I only saw your shirt and her face," she stammered. "Honest to Merlin, I saw practically nothing."

Oliver laughed softly, the corners of his mouth curving upwards in a smirk. "Why, might I ask, were _you_ out after hours?" He didn't wait for her to blink, much less formulate an answer. "I have a pretty good guess why, and I figure it's only fair. But we're even now. No blackmail this year."

Angelina tried not to roll her eyes, and instead made herself look as innocent as possible. "What are you talking about?" she asked through a too-cheesy smile. He knew her too well.

He laughed again, not so softly, but not loudly either. The smile she'd seen slowly emerging on his face had fully appeared, and there was a moment when her heart hit her ribcage a little too hard. Oliver had a hard time making anything look bad, and he had the same intent depths to his eyes that Levi had. She inhaled sharply to stop her fluttering heart; it was no secret that Oliver had a little crush on her, and it irked Levi to an insane degree, but she had almost never looked at _him _that way. Her heart was devoted to Levi, she knew it, but somehow Oliver's smile…

 "Why Nicole?" she asked at last, trying to draw her attention away from…him.

He sighed. "She was a set-up. Glen Davis has this fool notion that I need to get knocked-"

Angelina held her hands up in front of her face to stop him. "You're bringing back bad pictures, Wood."

 "Johnson, Angelina!"

Her eyes widened when she heard her name. Then, motioning for Oliver to wait a moment, she stood and raised her hand. "Oy! Devin!"

Devin had his back to her, and he turned slowly, lettered held tightly in his hand. When he spotted her, he told her matter-of-factually, "I'm not the owl, Johnson. You're supposed to say the owl's name."

 "Could you give me the mail for Reyers, Levi?" she asked, ignoring his remark.

Devin's shoulders sagged, as if he was tired of carrying a heavy weight. "Angelina, they're in alphabetical order. I'd have to-" He caught sight of Angelina with her hands on her hips, and sighing, he rooted through the back he had slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a small bundle of letters. "Okay. Now say the owl's name."

 "Hellweasel!"

Hellweasel took all the letters Devin held in his hand, as well as a rolled up newspaper, and glided towards Angelina. He had to drop the mail on the table, in Oliver's food, before he could land on her arm. She gave him a small kiss on the head, then pointed at Levi, who was buried in his plate of pancakes which, she was relieved to see, was not soaked with ketchup. The owl flapped his wings once to reach Levi, then landed on Levi's shoulder and grabbed his hair.

 "Love you, Leeve!" Angelina shouted, and she sat down quickly before Levi could look up and see her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him smiling in her direction.

 "You have to get his mail for him?" Oliver asked when she started glancing through the small pile of letters. "What are you, his mother?"

Angelina shook her head slightly, pretending to ignore that comment. Not only did Oliver's feelings for her put him in an uneasy affiliation with Levi, the two of them were rivals when it came to Quidditch. Oliver, a year younger than Levi, was the Gryffindor team captain, as well as captain of his team at AQR. Levi was very talented when it came to Quidditch, and he had expected to be captain. Instead, he was bested by a younger man, a younger man who also happened to be crushing on his girlfriend. The ice beneath the two of them was thin and always growing thinner.

 "He asked me to get his mail," she answered. "His eggs bewitched him."

Oliver scoffed. "Eggs my ass," he muttered softly, not intending for Angelina to hear. She heard, clearly, but she gave no sign. Oliver, talented as he was, needed to grow up.

The pile of mail was mostly filled with personal letters. Her brother sent her a rather thick envelope with a "sorry I'm late" note was scribbled on the back. There was a letter from a close friend at Hogwarts, Moira Allens. The envelope was covered with stickers she'd collected from the Muggle world. Moira, whose parents were both Muggles, was very fond of stickers, and she spared no expense in sharing them. The rolled up newspaper was from Angelina's mother, and already Angelina could see scrawlings in red ink about the pages; Angelina and her mother made fun of the articles when Angelina was younger, and now her mother sent her the _Daily Prophet_ with her own comments written in red ink in the margins. And, of course, there was surely a loving letter wrapped up in the middle.

Levi's mail was a bit more extensive, seeing as he was already receiving letters from professional Quidditch teams. He would be starting his seventh year at Hogwarts, and Quidditch teams had begun to watch him closely. There was a letter from Moira in the pile as well, which didn't surprise Angelina in the slightest. Moira kept in touch with anybody and everybody she ever met. There was a letter from his mother, Darlene, and another from his sister Teri, who Angelina knew to be pregnant.

 "What teams mailed him?" Oliver asked, nodding his head towards Levi's pile of letters.

Flipping through the letters, Angelina read off the team names. "The Falcons, the Tornados, Portree, and Puddlemere."

Oliver nodded slowly. Angelina sighed exasperatedly; Oliver was also receiving letters, despite his being a sixth year. He and Levi were always comparing the teams that mailed them, and though Levi had more teams after him, Oliver was repeatedly receiving letters from the Montrose Magpies, the most successful team in history. What Angelina didn't understand was _why_ they had to compare. Boys were too complicated.

She elbowed the kid next to her, a kid she didn't know, and asked him to pass Levi's stack of letters down. The mail went through three or four pairs of hands before it finally reached Levi. Angelina was glad to see that he'd stopped with the pancakes and was now only draining his glass of orange juice. All that food and just that one glass of juice. He took the letters, eyes meeting Angelina's, and he flashed her a smile before flipping through the envelopes.

 "The eggs are a little tough," Oliver muttered, drawing Angelina's attention from her boyfriend. "But they don't taste like rubber."

 "See? Now are you going to eat them? _All_ of them?"

Oliver paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "You keep this up and I might actually thing you're starting to worry about me."

Angelina opened her mouth to protest, but she had no protest. Oliver had skipped out on breakfast before games before, Merlin only knows how often, and he'd never proved to be incapable then; that excuse was out the door. She could feel herself turning a deep red, for the _second_ time, and he'd only blushed once during their conversation. Only once. It wasn't bloody fair. She worked her tongue, avoiding his eyes while she tried to think, and she caught Levi staring at one of his letters. One hand had his hair in a firm grip, on the verge of ripping it out, and his breath…even from her distance, Angelina could see he wasn't breathing normally. The hand that held the letter was shaking. "Oh Merlin," she whispered, and she stood quickly, ignoring Oliver when he asked where she was going.

She wasn't halfway to Levi when he crumpled the letter in one hand and threw it as far as he could across the room. It didn't go far. He watched it, as if staring at it would set it aflame, and before Angelina could reach him, he was on his feet and stalking out the door. Rane stood as Angelina passed and touched her shoulder, and both Leroy and Jory made as if to follow Levi. Angelina shook her head to make them sit down, but she didn't see if they did.

The door was open, allowing a fresh breeze into the mess hall. Angelina all but ran through it, squinting when the sunlight met her eyes. She saw Levi's form disappear around the corner of the mess hall, and shading her eyes, she sprinted after him. By the time she rounded the corner, however, he was nowhere in sight.

 "Angelina!" Oliver's voice echoed behind her, distant. He stopped at her side, watching her. He wasn't worried about Levi, and for that, Angelina wanted to hit him. Lord, how she wanted to hit him.

A strong hand touched her shoulder, a hand that wasn't Oliver's, and she turned slowly, eyes searching for Levi. He couldn't have gone far, not at a walk. Not far. It was impossible. Instead of Levi, as she was hoping for, Leroy's face met her. "Where is he?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, eyes blurring with tears. Levi had just disappeared. He was nowhere, nowhere in sight. He'd bloody disappeared! 

Leroy's arms went around her. He held her firmly, patting her head, telling her they'd find Levi. There was no way he could have gone far. He'd probably only gone to his cabin, or something. But they'd find him. They'd find him.

They'd find him.

~~~

Well, I went ahead and did it. I deleted the old version of _The Calling_ and I put up this one. Hopefully this will be a smoother ride than the other was. .o I saved reviews that helped me, though, and many, _many_ thanks for those.

Oh, and since it's my big thing right now, I'm going to be experimenting with characterization. There are a lot of original characters in here, I now, but I'm _really_ going to have fun with Oliver. I know this wasn't a very Oliver-oriented chapter, but trust me, there will be some in the very near future. I'm also shooting for chapters about this length. We'll see how that goes.

Much luv!

~'Roci


	2. My Own Defeat

A/N: All righty, here we go. Again. O.o Not much of an author's note this time, 'cept I must say the few reviews this received are worth the hundred-plus reviews the old version had; call me picky, but I like readers that actually care about what they're reading. Heh. Picky, picky Seroci, eh? ^.~

~~~

  


Oliver backed away from Angelina slowly, resisting the urge to clench his fists. He had no problem with Leroy – except the kid never knew when to ask for help – or Leroy's support. What irked him was _he'd_ known Angelina longer, _he'd _helped her through problems before, and _he_ was tossed aside like….he didn't want to admit it, but he felt like yesterday's garbage. Leroy was a good guy, really, and Oliver would even call himself friends with him. And maybe Leroy _was_ the best person for Angelina, considering where Levi stood in the situation, but Angelina had _no_ right….

It took a few minutes to realize he'd started walking and was already a good many yards from Angelina and Leroy, and all the others that felt their support would matter. _Their_ support mattered, but for whatever reason…whatever bloody reason…yesterday's bloody garbage. Levi was going to hear it from him as soon as he was found. _If_ he was found. Oliver stopped walking, pausing right in front of his cabin. _If_. Somehow, that seemed a very inviting if.

_If_ Levi's attendance didn't matter so much at the game today. Too many bloody 'if's and not in all the right places. Safely out of sight of Angelina's support group, Oliver balled his hands into fists. He inhaled and exhaled slowly; the last thing he needed was to injure himself and be disqualified from the game that way. The door looked like it needed a good hard punch, though, but a good hard punch would have to wait until Levi returned. Angelina's boyfriend or not, he was going to bleed before Oliver was through with him.

Oliver opened the cabin door slowly. As he and Levi were teammates, they shared a cabin, and the last thing Oliver wanted was to run into an angry, ready-to-fight Levi. Angelina didn't see it, no, because she was so bloody wrapped up in Levi's grey eyes, but there was something to Levi that frightened Oliver. He wasn't only older, he was larger to go with it, and he didn't like taking orders, even if they were orders he himself would have given. Oliver had to admit that Levi was indeed a great Quidditch player, but he wasn't of the "captain breed." There were…stresses that came with being captain – stresses that Glen Davis thought could be released through a bloody knock-up who didn't know a broom from a ball – that Levi would not be able to handle, and having to handle Levi on top of that made it all the worse. Levi didn't understand, and it made him dangerous. Greed made him dangerous.

To both Oliver's relief and dismay, the one-room cabin was empty. He slammed the door behind him harder than he intended, and the noise planted the seed of a headache firmly in the back of his head. His bed was unmade, but when was it ever made, and, as usual, Levi had neatly folded his quilt and laid it next to his pillow. All nice and sweet and cozy, something Angelina would like. Oliver stared at his own bedspread, then grabbed his quilt in a tight grip that paled his knuckles and ripped it off the bed. He didn't have the patience to fold it, so he kicked it as far as he could across the room; it barely went two feet.

He lowered himself on his bed, head in his hands. His fingers worked through his short brown hair as if searching for the best way to pry it loose. He didn't need this much pressure. Nothing that Nicole had done last night helped allay his tensions; it only gave him an hour or so to stop thinking about the world, about the mess his team was in, and he'd faked pretty much everything. Or, he told himself he faked it all. In the back of his mind, right next to his growing headache, he knew that part of him enjoyed Nicole. Merlin knew she wasn't hard on the eyes. Her looks made up for however annoying her voice was, or however bad a Quidditch player she was. And then, another thought that throbbed from beneath the shit he'd buried it with told him in an angry voice that he'd cheated. He'd disobeyed everything he was about. A Quidditch captain was cool, collected, on top of things. He wasn't rendezvousing in the middle of the night was a pair of pretty eyes and pretty boobs, and he wasn't about to tear his hair out because his long-time friend and crush had pushed him away. He had better things to think about, more important things.

And that was how to kill Levi. Oliver glanced quickly at the old clock hanging on the wall of the cabin. There was barely two hours before his first game of the day started, and if he was missing a player by game-time, his team forfeit. Forfeit. Wanting to shriek out loud but only allowing a grunt, he stood and kicked his quilt again. All the quilt did was flop, which, for whatever reason, made his blood boil. A shiver ran down his spine, then back up again, and while clenching and unclenching his fists, he tried to tell himself that Levi, wherever the fuck he was, would show up before noon. He had to. Merlin, a bloody _forfeit_! Oliver Wood didn't forfeit. 

He didn't cry, either. He needed someone to tell him he was stronger than that.

  


~~~

  


 "No game, Wood," Jon Bartholomew, the head of AQR, grunted in a voice meant only for Oliver's ears. Bartholomew was a large man, but all that large was muscle; he'd been a Beater in his younger years, and Oliver had seen briefly what the man could do. Bloody good Beater.

Oliver swallowed. His broom lay across his knees, and it took everything in him not to take it and twist it in his hands. He didn't have enough energy to keep his legs from bouncing. "Can't we find…a replacement? Someone to act reserve?"

Bartholomew shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. "As captain, you are responsible for your players' conditions and whereabouts. You should know this by now."

Oliver nodded slowly, if reluctantly. He'd been captain of every AQR team he played on for the past four years, and he'd spent almost five years as his Hogwarts' team captain; he knew a captain's duties. And he wasn't allowed any mistakes. He swallowed again, licked his lips, and tried to look anywhere but at Bartholomew. His throat was tight, but he forced himself to speak. "What about a search? I'll forfeit _this_ game, but we've gotta find him-"

 "The Ministry has been alerted, and they'll be here within seventy-two hours. Until then, Reyers is your responsibility." 

Oliver didn't think Bartholomew ever blinked. Ever. He shuddered without knowing why, and scratched the back of his neck to hide it. There had to be _some_ way to find Levi before the first game. Oliver had rarely forfeited before, and he wasn't keen on making it a habit now because Levi was a bloody fool. He hoped beyond all hope Levi wouldn't be on the Gryffindor team back at Hogwarts.

Bartholomew sat back in his chair and waved to excuse the Quidditch captain. Oliver nodded to him, a sort of bow of gratitude; at this point, he wasn't sure he could speak clearly. He almost had both feet out the door when he heard Bartholomew say, "I'm sorry, but you know rules are rules." Oliver nodded again, a barely visible nod. He knew the rules, and a captain obeyed the rules. Bloody rules. The only silver lining he found to being captain, besides all the attention he received from professional teams looking for reserve players, was that Levi's punishment was well within his abilities, and Levi was definitely going to be punished. Angelina had no say in that.

He stepped out of the office building, which was no larger than the cabins. All thoughts of slamming the door behind him were driven out of his head when his eyes met the big brown eyes of Nicole Folz. He grunted and rolled his eyes as he started for the Quidditch pitch at a brisk walk. The last thing he needed was Nicole.

 "Oliver." Her high-pitched squeak was soft, surprisingly, and timid. He didn't turn around until she'd repeated his name at least five times. His turn-around was a whirl, and he was forced to take a few steps back because her face was barely an inch from his.

 "Nicole, I've got a game-"

She moved closer to him, sauntering, brushed herself along his shoulder. "I didn't see you at breakfast."

He knew she'd seen him; he just didn't sit with her. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly. When everything last night was done and over, he'd apologized to her. It was a subtle hint, one that she, apparently, didn't take, which confused him, because girls were the _masters_ of hints, subtle or no. He didn't like to think of it as a one-night-stand, but she was so clueless that he might have to resort to that blunt explanation. Clueless, or a little too hopeful.

Blinking, he realized he hadn't pushed her away. He cleared his throat, loudly, and backed away two steps. "I didn't eat, today," he lied. "I slept in."

Nicole's eyebrows rose. She cocked her head in her annoying fashion – he usually found it cute when girls cocked their heads, but she was horrible at it – and opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted, repeating that he had a game to go to. He prayed she didn't know he was about a hair away from forfeit. He'd never live down a forfeit. Levi was going to suffer.

He didn't know which was worse; Nicole trying to seduce him again, or seeing Angelina upon turning around. He froze and watched her, with Jory and Rane huddled about her, Leroy tailing them. Why didn't _his_ support matter? How was he able to think of something like that, given the current situation? Biting his tongue and starting towards Angelina's team, he decided that girls were not worth this kind of trouble. 

His instincts guided him towards Angelina, but his eyes searched for Avery, the team captain. It was always a little weird talking to Avery – the guy was gay, and crushed a wee bit on Oliver – but he knew Quidditch, and he was most likely to understand Oliver's problem. He couldn't solve it, but he could console. Avery was nowhere in sight, though, and instead Oliver found himself face to face with Leroy.

 "Wood." Leroy nodded his head formally in recognition and stopped walking. The girls hardly noticed. Oliver was little bit relieved he wasn't the only one easily ignored. "What can I do you for?"

Oliver inhaled sharply, then asked, "Any Reyers?"

Leroy shook his head in a manner Oliver thought to be sympathetic. "Merimonti went to talk to Bartholomew a few minutes ago. Asking for a reserve Beater for you." He laughed suddenly, but quietly. "It's funny how he looks after you, Wood."

Oliver disregarded that last comment. "I already asked Bartholomew for a reserve. He wouldn't let me have one. We're looking at forfeit." The last word came out strangled.

This time, Leroy really looked sympathetic. He laid a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I'm real sorry. I don't wanna forfeit either, but rules…"

Oliver nodded. He was sick of rules. Hesitating, he asked, "How's Angelina?" This was dangerous ground, but anything to stop thinking of forfeit. One game forfeited put a team too far back in the line to redeem itself. One forfeit was all Oliver was willing to lose, if he could call himself willing. Angelina's team would lose nothing; they had all their players present. As far as AQR was concerned, they'd win the match as soon as Oliver admitted to forfeit. It would be a hollow victory, and that was almost as hard a blow as forfeiting, but they'd still be in the full game. Levi would have his grave dug by morning.

Leroy let out a long breath before answering. "She's shaken up, no lie," he muttered softly, as if afraid he'd be overheard. "Although she _has_ begun to move from his location to his reason." He lowered his voice even more. "Honestly, I think she thinks it's because of her."

Oliver didn't believe it. Angelina had done nothing wrong, unless talking to him and trying to force-feed him was wrong. Then again, who knew? With Levi, everything about Oliver was as good as Hell's offspring. But, again, Levi was part of Quidditch. He knew the penalties of forfeit. And he would have the same shame on him as Oliver, and Phil, and the rest of their team. Shame was shame, no matter who admitted themselves to it. It wasn't because of Angelina, and it wasn't because of Oliver.

Leroy squeezed Oliver's shoulder, and Oliver jerked, suddenly realizing his hand was there. His opponent's eyes softened, in more pity that Oliver didn't want, but he didn't say anything more. For that part, Oliver was glad. He didn't want anyone to say anything to him unless they knew where Levi Reyers was and, now, why. He couldn't wait until Levi showed up again. Punishment was all his.

~~~

  


The headache throbbed, no longer lurking in the back of Oliver's head. It was a full-fledged headache. And it wasn't his fault, completely. As a captain, he was to blame. Levi….Levi was the source of every problem he'd ever faced. Every bloody problem, and this bloody headache.

He stood on the side of the field, in full green and black uniform and his broom held tightly in his beginning-to-shake-hands. Bartholomew had allowed an extra half hour to wait for Levi's arrival. Oliver was grateful, he couldn't deny that, but it hurt that Bartholomew's generosity was out of sympathy. A captain didn't accept sympathy. Sympathy wasn't Quidditch. Bartholomew should have been able to understand that.

Across the field stood Angelina's team, in their black and red and yellow robes. Oliver's eyes unconsciously tried to meet Angelina's, but she barely looked up from her feet. Jory, with her hair pulled back in pigtails, had her arm around the Chaser. Rane stood not far off. Avery and Leroy stood with Patrick Contreras and Elaine Rowes. Pat Oliver knew from Hogwarts; Elaine was completely new to him, though he caught himself watching her intently. He half wished she was on his team.

Roy Armstrong, one of Oliver's Chasers, laid a hand on his captain's shoulder. The two were good enough friends, but this wasn't a time for friendship. Oliver didn't need support; Roy's hand was only an annoyance. He let it rest, though. No need to make Roy feel like he didn't matter, make him feel like yesterday's garbage.

Bartholomew reeled in from circling the pitch on his broom, his eyes locked on Oliver. Disappointment was written all over his face. Levi hadn't shown, and only three minutes remained in the countdown. Oliver swallowed. He wasn't prepared to wait those agonizingly long three minutes, but he wasn't prepared to admit to forfeit.

 "Jon!" Avery raised his hand, broom with it. Bartholomew's mouth tightened at being called by his first name, but he landed and turned his back to Oliver. "Jon, we call the forfeit."

Oliver's grip on his broom tightened, and Roy let his shoulder go. Avery was a bloody fucking idiot if he thought he could take the forfeit from him. Bloody fucking idiot. Oliver opened his mouth to protest, starting towards Bartholomew, but Bartholomew had his hand raised to stop any talk.

 "Noble, _Merimonti_," Bartholomew answered, emphasizing his use of Avery's last name. "Noble and admirable, but _Wood_ and I have had a talk. I've already been too lenient with the time extension, and I cannot allow further leniency."

By the time Bartholomew finished, Oliver was almost at his side. He stopped a few paces away, rested his broom on the ground. "I, Oliver Wood, admit to forfeit-"

Bartholomew cut him off by whirling around. Broom pointed at Oliver, he said, "Formalities will not be required, _Wood_. The game goes to _Merimonti_, and your colors are stripped to grey." He stopped just short of an apology, then lowered his broom. Oliver nodded, the closest he'd get to a bow. Turning around to speak to Avery, Bartholomew continued. "_Merimonti_ has won the match through _Wood's_ forfeit. His colors ascend to orange." Avery nodded in the same fashion Oliver had, biting his lip. Oliver was ready to punch him. Oliver was ready to punch anything.

 "You are excused." Bartholomew mounted his broom and raised his hand. "Next up, Christell versus Sorenson!"

Oliver stalked off the field, not bothering to wave for his team to follow. His eyes locked on Avery, the bloody idiot, to keep from looking at the full stands. Christell and Sorenson were leading their teams onto the field, solemn faces and pity-filled eyes. They were captains; they understood. Oliver paid them little mind. He barely noticed when Christell snorted at him down her long nose. He should have been grateful for her condolences, he knew, and he also knew she took everything personally. Still, he only hunched his shoulders, then stood up straight when he realized that, as captain, he couldn't be seen as weak. Bloody weak captain.

He marched into the locker room, where Avery was seating his team. Angelina, Jory, Rane, and Elaine were sitting side by side on the bench in front of Avery. Leroy sat on the floor next to them, arms around his knees, and Pat was by his locker, undressing, and shooting Rane glances. When his eyes met Oliver's, however, he slipped into a T-shirt and lounged with his back against the lockers, arms crossed.

Roy was leading Oliver's team into the locker room when Oliver planted himself next to Avery, folding his arms to keep his fists from clenching. Avery stopped talking – what he'd been talking about, Oliver had only the slightest idea – and turned to look at his fellow captain.

 "What in the bloody hell was _that_?" Oliver demanded as soon as he had Avery's eyes. "What do you think you were _doing_?"

 "You didn't want to-"

 "I know bloody well what I didn't want to do, and it's no bloody business of yours!" Oliver's hands gripped his arms painfully. Oh, Merlin, how he wanted to hit Avery Merimonti. "You had no right, _no fucking right_, to do that!"

Avery assumed a defensive stance, hands on his hips and head cocked. "Jon thought it admirable-"

 "To hell with Bartholomew!" Oliver whirled in a tight circle. "I thought that, as a captain, you'd get it. I thought you'd bloody get it!"

Avery only stared at him with his silent brown eyes. Oliver wanted to kill those eyes.

 "You _humiliated_ me in front of Merlin knows _how many_ people, and all you can say is it was _admirable_?" Oliver stuck his finger in Avery's face. "I am _not_ grateful for your bloody stupid offer, _Merimonti_. I am not some bloody little boy who needs to be watched out for, all right? _I'm not a bloody child_! I can accept _my own defeat_!"

 "I was only trying to-"

Oliver grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, almost all hope of restraint gone. "Are you even _listening_ to me? I. Don't. Need. Your. Bloody. Help. I don't need you talking to Bartholomew behind my back about _my_ team, I don't need you trying to take _my_ forfeit from me, I don't need you looking out for me! I don't need _you_!" 

"Oliver." Leroy was on his feet. "That's enough."

Oliver dug his fingernails into Avery's arms and pushed the dark-haired captain up against the lockers. Avery didn't flinch. "If you _ever_ do _anything_ like that again, Merimonti-" he hissed through clenched teeth. He swallowed, tried to finish the sentence, then left it as an open-ended threat and muttered, "I can take care of my own team."

 "Oliver." Leroy's voice was firm, and it reminded Oliver too much of a redhead prefect who paid the rules too much mind.

 "Shut the fuck up, Winters," Oliver growled beneath his breath. He let go of Avery and turned to glare each and every member of the opposing team. His eyes paused a moment on Angelina, who actually had her head up, who actually met his stare with one of her own. Her mouth tightened and he swallowed. Hesitantly, he walked towards her, and crouched so he was eye-to-eye with her. He had to stop himself from reaching to take her hand. "Do you have any idea, any at all, where he might have gone?"

She frowned at him, eyes full of unshed tears, her mouth a tight but unsteady line. "You only care about your damn game," she hissed through clenched teeth. Her voice was lowered for his eyes alone.

 "I want to find him as much as you do-"

 "So you can bloody win!" She was visibly shaking. "I swear to Merlin, if you even _think_ of touching him when he comes back, I'll strangle you in your sleep. Your team could bloody win, then."

His throat tightened, and without a word, he whirled towards the door. As soon as he set foot outside, he mounted his broom and pushed towards the sky. It wasn't flying he was interested in, but he tried to take a moment of sitting a good fifty feet above the ground, inhaling deeply. It was impossible for him to cry when he was on his broom, and he wasn't about to start crying. Captains didn't cry over a missing player, or a lost game, or even over a girl's rejection. All he'd wanted to do was help her…

He didn't know how long he stayed up on his broom. Avery tried talking to him once, but Oliver only flew higher to drown out his voice. He was in the sky when Devin sent the owls away with outgoing letters, and when the bells sounded for dinner. When Bartholomew made his "lights out" rounds and kids started sneaking out of their cabins, Oliver had himself perched on the roof of the mess hall, staring intently at his cabin door. The headache hadn't gone away.

~~~

A/N: This is actually a wee bit shorter than I wanted, but it'll do. *sighs* I'm not sure exactly what was up with this chapter, but hopefully it'll make more sense to me tomorrow. Much luv!


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